


Cas and the Real Dean

by misseditallagain



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Humor, Big Brother Gabriel, Car Accidents, Character Death, Disability, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Established Relationship, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Little Sister Anna, M/M, Neighbors, Pre-slash Balthazar/Castiel, Psychological Trauma, Sex Toys Mentioned, Sibling Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-24 10:37:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/938990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misseditallagain/pseuds/misseditallagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas doesn't know when his relationship with Dean started becoming a point of contention between he and his siblings, but he suspects it has something to do with the accident. With his long-time partner in a wheelchair and his siblings acting out, Cas struggles to deal with his own problems in the aftermath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cas and the Real Dean

**Author's Note:**

> Poster drawn by [Kai](http://kai-art.tumblr.com)
> 
> Feel free to follow me on tumblr @ [misseditallagain](http://misseditallagain.tumblr.com)

 

 

 

1.

It's awkward. All the stares and the whispers. Cas tries his best to ignore it, laughs quietly to himself at the hushed insults Dean throws in the direction of Gabriel's guests every few seconds that bring him back to reality – the warm hand in his, the warm breath on his ear, everything is so _warm_ – and remind him that these people aren't the ones that matter. Still, it's difficult.

Sam won't come around anymore. Cas knows why, knows it's hard to see Dean like he is, but Sam and Dean used to be so inherently codependent-

Dean looks to Cas and there's no doubt he can see the guilt in those blue eyes. “I require the facilities,” Cas says a little more stiffly than he'd intended. “Will you be fine on your own?” He's only asking because Anna has been eying them critically all night. She doesn't seem to be in the room at present though.

Dean smiles as he reaches up to swat at Cas's hair, but it doesn't light up his eyes the way it used to. His arms settle comfortably on the rests of his wheelchair and his expression becomes far too neutral to be reassuring. “I'm not a baby, Cas. Go. And facilities? Who the hell says facilities?”

Cas doesn't answer; just shakes his head and returns the smile.

There honestly aren't that many people in attendance; Cas had expected more, but he's silently grateful his brother had only invited a select number over to try his latest confectionery. Still, Cas has never been particularly lucky (not that he believes in such things) and he can only sigh when someone bumps heavily into his shoulder. “Careful, Cassie,” comes a rather jovial tone from Cas's neighbor. “Wouldn't want to harm a hair on that tousled head.”

Balthazar only moved to the area a month ago, but already Cas feels a strange kind of connection with the man. He stays gone most of the day and night, Cas has noticed. Except Sundays. Those days are spent sitting out on the deck behind his house, a glass of wine in hand, trading small talk with Cas from where Cas does his gardening. Dean never comes outside on those days.

Cas never asks Balthazar where he's gone to all week, but it's not hard to take attendance in such a small neighborhood. Especially not when his other neighbor is his own brother, and the world's biggest gossip. Some say Balthazar is part of a large crime family, laying low in the suburbs while his relatives smooth over some particularly nasty problems; some say he's a wealthy male escort recovering from a work-week of fine dining and torrid sex. Cas is willing to bet it's all on the smarmy British accent.

Cas isn't one to judge a person by profession. Not when he proofreads boring as hell (as Dean has often said) history textbooks for middle school students.

“Had too much champagne tonight, Cassie?” Balthazar asks as he helps to steady Cas.

Cas shakes his head. He's only had half a glass; the other half he’d accidentally spilled on Dean after trying to get the other man to try a sip. It hadn't been appreciated, but Dean had simply shaken his headand asked Cas why the hell he was being so clumsy tonight. “Ah, no. I was simply requiring use of the facilities,” Cas says, belatedly wondering if that was too much information.

“Well you might want to take a detour,” Balthazar tells him next. “It sounded as though your brother and sister are having a trifle in the hall. I won't pretend to know what it's about, but let's all be honest. Your sister is quite the shrill speaker when upset.”

Cas closes his eyes as he holds back a sigh. Gabriel and Anna were neither one for arguing with each other, but they've been crossing paths more and more as of late. “Thank you, Balthazar,” Cas says. He hopes it's not as dismissive as he thinks it sounds. “Perhaps I should go and make sure they don't break anything before the night is over.” Cas remembers last Saturday night and their dead mother's shattered crystalline vase. He doesn't want a repeat.

“Suit yourself,” Balthazar says with a shrug. That is the last Cas sees of him the rest of the evening.

Gabriel's home is so much more complex than Cas's own, having two stories instead of just the one, and a series of trick doors and openings hidden behind bookshelves. Gabriel installed them all himself. The spiral staircase at one end of the hall sits deserted and Cas wonders why his siblings don't have sense enough to go upstairs if they are going to engage in a confrontation.

He hears Anna long before he sees them. It's called a hall, but there are corners and it does twist in one area. “You can't just sit back while he brings that thing in here,” Anna says in a hushed tone as best she can. “We have to do something before he gets out of hand. It's not right; it's not good for Cas's mental well-being.”

What little good mood Cas had earlier in the day evaporates all at once as he takes in his sister's adamant stance.

“What do you want me to do about it?” Gabriel asks, his normal cheer (as fake as it can be sometimes) diminished significantly. “I can't just tell him to leave Dean at home. Look, I know people are going to say things. I really don't care. You know what the doctor says. It's good that Cas has Dean. This way, he can let go slowly.”

It all comes down to Dean; it always does. Cas just can't comprehend when exactly Dean started becoming a problem amongst his siblings. Anna had originally been one of his staunchest supporters in moving away from the core family and in with his boyfriend. She'd even helped pick out the paint for the foyer. Now though- Anna has nothing nice to say about Dean anymore. It's a point of contention they'll have to deal with eventually.

Not tonight though. Cas spins on his heel without waiting to face down his siblings and marches back into the living room as gracefully as he can. Which really isn't graceful at all as he accidentally bumps into an end table that holds a tray of the tiny coconut-covered peanut-butter candies Gabriel had added to his confectionery's menu. Luckily, Hester manages to catch it before it so much as wobbles and offers him a look of sympathy, as though she knows exactly what's happening in the hall. Cas wonders who doesn't know by now. He doesn't want or need anyone's pitying glances though, and he nods as appreciatively as he can while still ignoring her, and goes straight for Dean.

He doesn't even wait for protest before he moves behind Dean's chair and wheels the other man away from the wall. It's not like Dean wanted to be here in the first place; Cas remembers the complaints beforehand, the adamant “you're just lucky Gabe's candy kicks ass. When's he gonna start making pies?”

One look and Dean already seems to know what's happened by Cas's hurt, pinched expression. “What are we doing?” he asks, trying to knock Cas's hands away to show that he's fully capable of moving himself. His attempts fail. “And do I need to hurt anyone?” he finishes.

Cas smiles briefly, even if the hurt is still there. “It's fine. I'm just tired,” he half-lies. Because he is tired, he realizes. He's tired of the whispers and the stares, and when did this relationship stop being something their friends and family accepted and start being something to argue about in the hall?

Nothing can deter Dean. “Oh, I am so kicking someone's ass for this. I didn't even get any of that stupid fancy-candy,” he says as though that's his biggest grief. Dean's always been a lot of talk though; he hides the bigger problems deep down where only he can see (and ignore) them.

“I'm thinking pie sounds better after all,” Cas says as they pass a scowling Uriel. Dean can't argue with that.

Not a word is said as they manage out the backdoor, carefully maneuvering down the single step to the concrete walkway.

 

 

2.

It's always cold in Garth's office – Garth, instead of Dr. Fitzgerald, because he'd been adamant Cas address him informally the very first day. Cas still isn't used to it. Still, Gabriel had sworn by this particular doctor's style of... well, of madness, really. And Cas still trusts his brother's opinion, even if things with their sister are rather frigid as of late. Like the air in the cool, clammy office. Cas is glad he'd worn a sweater.

“Dean didn't want to join us today?” Garth asks from the coffee table he is perched upon, his too-skinny legs crossed comfortably. His hands are folded across his lap and there isn't a notebook in sight. Cas likes that best about him.

Cas smiles wanly as he remembers their morning argument, Dean still in bed while Cas shuffled through the closet to find them appropriate day wear. “He said, and I quote: if I have to talk to the damn puppet one more time, I'm gonna punch that stick man until he's got stupid googly eyes too.”

“Well it's good to know what his limits are,” Garth says with a genuine smile. “Mr. Fizzles rubs me the wrong way sometimes too.”

Cas doesn't think too hard about it, but he's sure there's something about that statement that doesn't sound quite right. Dean would be able to point it out if he were here and not pouting out in the waiting room. There'd be laughter too; it's been too long since he's heard Dean laugh.

"More importantly though,” says Garth, and Cas's attention centers on him. “It's been six months to the day since the accident, Cas. How are you feeling?”

Cas draws in a deep breath, but can't seem to relax against the leather couch in Garth's office. He sits ramrod straight, his hands on his knees, staring dutifully ahead at the person he is addressing. He'd known this was coming. “I, myself, am fine. However, I worry about Dean and what his limitations are doing to him in a mental sense. He seems to sink in and out of depression, happy some moments, and angered the next. I do not know if the anger is his permanent state and he is simply masking it, or-”

“Let's talk about you for a minute,” Garth interrupts.

Cas's head tilts to the side. He doesn't understand why Garth would want to talk about him; he's not the one paralyzed from the waist down; he's not the one whose brother won't call anymore. “I'm fine,” Cas replies, his hackles rising. “I am simply worried about Dean, and for good reason. He's depressed, irritable, can't seem to take enjoyment from anything. And to top it all off, Sam won't accept our telephone calls anymore. All this and I do not know what to do or how to make it better.”

Garth raises his hands in placation as if Cas is a snarling animal. Maybe his reasoning had come out harsher than he'd intended. “It's okay, it's okay,” Garth repeats like a slow-spoken mantra. “Dean has his problems, but there's nothing we can do for him as long as he sits out in that waiting room.” Garth gestures to the door before he wipes his hands on his knees in a strange sort of nervous tic. His voice is always so soft, his dialect drawn out. “What I want to know about, is how you're dealing with all of it, Cas. It's been six months since the accident. Do you still not remember much of anything?”

Cas shakes his head and lets out warm breath. “No. It's all blurred in my mind. I remember waking up soon after we were brought to the hospital and I remember being told that I had a concussion and that Dean was in surgery, but not much more.”

“That's fine,” says Garth. “Now, why don't you tell me about how you've been feeling lately. It's important, since you're the one who has to care for Dean, right?”

Cas can't argue with that. Still, he feels nothing has been helped by the end of it.

 

 

3.

Cas doesn't really want to talk to Anna. Not since the night of Gabriel's party. But it's been a week and she's standing in his living room like she owns the place, pleading for the television to be muted because what she has to say is apparently important. Cas isn't sure he wants to hear it.

Still, he turns down the volume to barely above a whisper, ignoring Dean's complaints from the couch. He can live without Dr. Sexy at full volume for the next ten minutes. It's a repeat anyway; and Cas feels ashamed that he even recognizes it as such.

“Gabriel says I should apologize,” says Anna. She's looking back and forth between the floor and Dean like she doesn't know if she even wants to be in the same room as him. Cas ignores it as best he can until it goes on for a full two minutes and he clears his throat roughly. “He's spoken with Dr. Fitzgerald, you know. And I guess if your therapist thinks it's good for you, then I'm willing to play along.” Cas isn't sure what she's talking about, but he's willing to _play along_ as well. “So I suppose what I'm saying is that I don't like it, this situation you've got going, but I'm not going to voice my opinions anymore. You live as best as you can, Cas.”

Cas nods (though he isn't convinced), Dean grumbles (complete with an eye-roll), and Anna continues (her arms crossed).

“You know I'm just worried about you, Cas,” she says seriously. He wonders when he stopped being the big brother and she the little sister. They were the youngest, the babies of their five-sibling family. “I know things have been hard for you since the accident-”

He stops her right there. “You have no idea what we've gone through since the accident. It's been six months and suddenly I hear nothing from you but disparaging remarks about the person I love, about how we live our lives, and about my mental health.” He's stood up now, his expression contorted into red-faced anger. “And I'm tired of it, Anna. I'm so fucking tired.” Anna takes a step back because Cas _never_ curses when there are better alternatives to use, and even Dean looks shocked as he reaches up to place a hand on Cas's wrist to quell his ire.

“Okay, okay,” Anna brings her palms up, face-forward in much the same way Garth had done. “I'm sorry, Cas.” For one brief second, she looks at him like he's lost his mind, and he supposes he has for all that to come raging out the way it had. “And I'm sorry to Dean too,” she adds in quickly.

Dean says nothing; he just stares back at Cas, trying to read something in those torrential blue eyes. Cas sinks back onto the couch beside him, looking nothing more than completely apologetic as he leans forward and silently asks for something he need not ever ask for. They kiss, quickly, soothingly.

Anna lets out a sob before she turns from the room and leaves.

 

 

4.

Sunday is by far Cas's favorite day, even if Dean has taken to holing himself up in the house instead of enjoying the summer air outside the way Cas does, working in his tiny vegetable patch. Cas loves the smell of dirt, the pile of weeds that grow in number where he throws them in the backdrop that record how much work he's done today, and even the way he has to fight with his gloves to stay on while he pulls on the green part of a carrot to dislodge it from the earth.

“Your garden is coming along swimmingly, Cassie,” Balthazar startles Cas, standing just behind the line of dirt, glass of red wine in hand. He hadn'texpected the intrusion; normally Balthazar stays on his own property as they engage in nearly-shouted conversations. “I must admit, playing in the dirt never looked so inviting, but you do pull it off.”

Cas can't help the small smile that creeps up on him. “The carrots are almost ready for harvest. I think this one has matured a little early,” he says. Balthazar acknowledges with a nod, as if there's nothing wrong with that. “I'm not sure what to do with them all,” Cas admits. “Dean isn't exactly a fan of carrots unless they're cooked into something.”

“And how is Dean?” Balthazar asks and it lights up Cas's face, because he's the only person who ever asks (besides Garth, but it's Garth's job to ask, and even when he does, Garth doesn't want to actually talk about Dean). Balthazar takes the time for another sip of wine and to lower himself down onto the blanket Cas had laid down so that he doesn't get his pants dirty.

“Some days are better than others,” Cas tells him.

Balthazar nods. “Ah, yes. That's only to be expected, I suppose. To suddenly have your mobility ripped from you. I can't begin to imagine. Still, you're doing wonders for him, I'm sure. Who wouldn't be in good spirits seeing that face day in and day out?” he teases.

Cas isn't sure if what his neighbor has said would be considered a flirtation. He decides that whether it is or not is of no consequence and enjoys the fact that someone cares enough to ask and not disparage Cas his choice to remain with Dean. “Regretfully, I've never spoken to the man,” Balthazar states, and Cas isn't sure why. It's an odd sort of statement, so Cas counters with one of his own.

“He says you look smug. And I'm nearly certain the words _total douche_ were thrown around in his estimation as well,” Cas says, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully, trying to bring forth the memories he's calling to mind.

“Does he now?” Balthazar asks. If he's annoyed by this revelation, he doesn't show it. Cas can see where Dean is coming from when Balthazar's brows raise minutely and he smirks as though he knows a secret none of them have quite figured out. “Then you may tell Dean that the only reason I will stand for such observations is because he is presently attached _to you_. And _I_ should like to think _you_ my only friend in this godforsaken place.”

Again, Cas isn't sure how to respond. “What about Gabriel?” he asks in place of anything better.

Balthazar laughs and it's the first time Cas has ever heard him do so. It's a whisper of a sound, barely there, but his eyes are shining like Cas's questions are something to be adored. “Gabriel annoys me,” he answers honestly. “His chocolates are divine, I'll give him that. But his taste in alcohol is atrocious.”

“Gabriel thinks you're a spy,” Cas tells him. “And that you fly to Russia during the week taking pictures. He also thinks your accent is fake.”

They're sitting shoulder to shoulder now, side by side on the old blue blanket, and Balthazar nudges Cas with a twinkle in his eyes. “I can assure you, Cassie,” he says playfully, “the accent is very real.” He doesn't elaborate more than that, leaving whatever else up to Cas's imagination. Cas knows though not to listen to Gabriel's conjectures about people in the neighborhood, or he might actually believe that Mrs. Beardman down the lane eats stray cats and that Mr. O'Connell dresses as a bear and digs through people’s garbage bins at night. Sometimes he wonders if Gabriel believes these things wholeheartedly (as he delivers them deadpan seriously) or if he's simply playing a ruse with Cas's mind.

Probably the latter.

“And now I've heard what Dean thinks of me, and what your dear brother thinks of me,” Balthazar says and then he takes another slow sip of his wine. “But Cassie, I'm curious: what is it _you_ think of me?”

It's a warm afternoon and Cas smiles. “I like you,” he says with simplistic honesty.

There's something there in Balthazar's expression that Cas can't pinpoint. He sobers instantly, staring down into the near-empty glass in Balthazar's hand.

“I was so hoping you'd say that.”

 

 

5.

Sometimes Cas blanks out for whole hours on end; it's a condition he's learned to accept and not one he likes to talk about with Garth. Rather, he goes out of his way to hide it. Especially since the occurrences are becoming fewer and farther in between. It's not like he strays from home too often and the only places he ever ventures are to the corner market or to his brother's house. The situation suits him, being neither a social person nor particularly adventurous.

But when they do happen and Cas snaps to, it is no less disorienting.

Coming back to his surroundings always feels like waking up after staring at the alarm clock all night and wondering if he'd ever really been asleep at all. One glance at the clock proves that yes, time has gone by, and no, he doesn't know exactly what he's been doing in that frame.

The first thing he does (after the urge to vomit has passed) is search out Dean. Always. Without a doubt. Every time.

Cas blinks away the fuzz over his eyes, takes in a deep breath, and looks down to the watch on his wrist. It's still Tuesday, thank goodness. The sun is just setting out the kitchen window, hues of orange and yellow leaking through the closed blinds, and he's thankful not more than thirty minutes have passed. It's nearing time for dinner, but he figures maybe they should just order in after all, except now he's got all those carrots that need to be cooked into something lest they never get eaten, and then all his time in the garden would have been for naught, but Dean doesn't like carrots, and to be honest Cas isn't overly fond of them either so he really doesn't know why he planted them in the first place-

Cas stops, takes in a deep, ragged breath and nearly doubles over. He's thinking too much and it's a bad day, so he stumbles into the living room where he knows Dean is. Nothing is said before he crashes onto the couch, half on Dean and half off him, burying his face in the other man's neck.

“The hell is your problem?” Dean asks lightly, an arm wrapped around Cas, rubbing at his lower back in calming circles. Cas loves him all the more for it. Dean downplays things like there's no tomorrow, choosing instead to pretend there's no problem except for the fact that Cas still retains a great deal of the awkward he'd possessed when they first met. Cas draws in another deep breath before he answers. Dean smells oddly like warm plastic.

“I've decided I want to be lazy for the rest of today,” Cas responds.

“You?” Dean makes a noise of disbelief, not quite enough to be a laugh. “Says the guy who's always popping in and out all over the place. How long did you spend out in that garden again? You smell like dirt and sweat. Granted, that's not a bad thing.”

Cas shrugs under his arm. “The carrots weren't ready on Sunday. They were ready today. I had to pull them up before the squirrels get to them.”

“Right, because that would be such a travesty.”

“I saved a few for them. They're hanging from the tree out back.” Cas can see them swaying in the fading sunlight through the sheer curtains Anna helped pick out when they'd first moved in.

“Right. Well, at least you aren't being useless.” It sounds like an insult to Cas, but Cas knows that's not what he's saying at all. Dean is speaking of all the ways he can't get up and do as he pleases, how he sits on the couch or in his chair because he can't bring himself to ask Cas for help. He often stares at the wall for hours on end, frowning as though he might have the power to make paint crack, and never says a word.

“Dean, you aren't useless,” Cas says it like it's the truth – the truth he believes. And Dean should know this by now, the way they've talked long and hard about it. Really, more the way that Dean _listened_ and _Cas_ talked, whispering his fears and wishes to the back of Dean's neck while he held him all through the night.

“Yeah, sorry.” Dean gives up now because it's easier to do; and it's not like he's going anywhere.

Cas gave up on elaborate platitudes a long time ago. The only thing he can do is keep repeating what he believes and hope that one day Dean will come to believe it too. Instead, he leans forward, taking control of the situation, and turns Dean's face in for a kiss. It's simple at first, but after one or two more, melds into something with a bit more longing. This is how they communicate best anyway. Cas passes his hand downward, over shoulder and collarbone, coming to rest on Dean's stomach, and he doesn't like what he finds. Dean is losing weight again – all over – and if he keeps going at this rate, he won't have the strength to maneuver himself in and out of the wheelchair. He already refuses Cas's help as it is.

“I love you,” Cas says as he pushes back and sits up with a sad smile. Dean doesn't say it back; he never does; but then again, he never needs to. “And I think I'm going to make something to eat after all.”

Dean mutters something about “can't sit still” and calls Cas a “fucking tease”. Cas just laughs and meanders his way back into the kitchen.

 

 

6.

Cas tries on a Thursday to call Sam again. Sam, who hasn't been accepting his calls, who doesn't even reply to his texts anymore. The mystery of Sam is almost as big as the mystery of Anna. No, Cas corrects himself, it's much bigger. Because Sam and Dean are like peanut-butter and jelly (or so Cas is told. He's never actually partaken of that sandwich variety – a fact that his brother will not let him live down) in that they simply go together. No other fact is more apparent than that and in all the time Cas has known them, he has not only accepted it, but embraced it with all the reasoning that if Sam is Dean's brother, then in a way, he is Cas's too.

Or he used to be. Sam isn't acting very brotherly as of late. Cas takes in a breath and tries to remember, as he dials in the familiar commands to his phone, that it's been hard on everyone since the accident. Maybe they all just need to come to terms with what's happened. Sam can be forgiven. The thought slips from Cas's mind as he listens to hollow ringing, one two three, until he's counted to ten and the voicemail picks up. _“Hi, this is Sam. I can't come to the phone right now, but leave a message after the tone and I'll try to get back with you as soon as possible.”_ It's a lie. Cas draws on every ounce of patience he has not to tell the tinny sound of Sam's voice that. At least he hasn't changed his number just yet.

“Hello Sam,” Cas says, trying to remember everything he has to say in the limited amount of time he has, “your brother is getting better, more at ease, I think. It'd be nice if you could call... or maybe visit. We both miss you.”

He lets it go for two hours and tries again at lunch, ignoring the way Dean pointedly refuses to eat yet another day in a row.

“Sam,” Cas says when the voicemail comes alive again, just as he knew it would. He's quickly building up steam. “You should really call back soon. Your brother needs you. I need you. He won't eat today and it's driving me up the wall. Please just call. I know this is hard on everyone-” The beep cuts him off before he can finish.

Cas manages to wheedle Dean into eating a bit of soup. He's not sick by any means, but it's probably better on his stomach anyway in not having eaten a solid meal in so long. It doesn't help that he accidentally spills some down the front of his shirt, but Cas isn't going to complain. It's progress. Today isn't one of the good days. They bothneed help, Cas knows, but as long as Sam isn't answering his phone, he doesn't know where to turn. Certainly not to Anna. And Gabriel, while accepting, seems to be a bit put off lately too. Still, maybe he can convince his brother to make a pie.

He tries one last time to call Sam while Dean is in the shower. Just as Cas expects to hear the voicemail come to life again, there's a solid click and the unmistakable sound of someone breathing lightly. “Cas?” It's not Sam; it's Jess and she sounds on the verge of tears.

“Jessica? Is something the matter with Sam?” he asks quickly, thinking that might be the reason Sam hasn't dared to contact them in so long. “He's not hurt, is he?”

“No,” she says, and Cas can picture Jess shaking her head, “Sam is just upset. We're both upset, Cas, and this isn't helping. You know that.”

Cas knows that better than anyone.

“Cas, sweetie, I don't think you should call anymore. At least not for a while,” Jess urges him. Cas doesn't understand; he doubts he ever will. “Cas...” she says and it's shaky at best. She's crying. Nobody likes it when Jess cries, least of all Cas. He doesn't know what to do, how to comfort her, and he wishes that Sam would just pick up the phone instead of passing it off to his fiancée. Jess draws in a breath and he imagines her straightening up, wiping her tears away. “Cas, you need help. Please get some help.”

Cas shakes his head slowly in confusion. The whole point of calling was because he needs help. Why did they not understand this? He needs _their_ help. “I'm trying to,” he says, unsure of why everyone is suddenly distraught. “I'm calling you because I need help. I can't do this on my own. Dean needs his brother.”

“Oh honey,” she draws in another ragged breath, “you know that's not really Dean.”

Cas’s mouth falls open as his brows narrow and his face grows hot. He has no response to that; has no idea what to say. Yes, Dean is different since the accident, since his life was so irrevocably changed, but that doesn't mean he's tragically some different person. Some days are worse than others, but Dean is still Dean beneath it all, and slowly but surely he's coming back to himself. It's gradual, but there's improvement. Whole days where he can laugh and joke and make fun of the neighbors just as well as Gabriel can. So Cas simply doesn't understand what Sam and Jess' problem is.

Cas hangs up before the anger can overtake him completely.

 

 

7.

Blinking lights and headaches, sirens that split through the sound of pitter-patter rain on the roof. There's smoke coming up out of the twisted hood that looks so much closer than it should be. Cas doesn't need to look up to see there's no windshield anymore; he can feel the glass shards under his hands on the seat, in his hair, and even beneath the layers of clothes he's wearing. Everything hurts. He blinks, his temple pressed against the dash. There's liquid ooze pouring down the side of his head and he vaguely wonders that it might be blood, but he's not brave enough to lift a hand and check for sure.

People shout all around him and he can hear the sounds of metal being wrenched away beside him. Someone's prying the doors open. Dean won't like that. _Dean._ Cas opens his eyes again only to find he's looking down at his own shoes, covered in glass, and when he tries to pull away from the dash, his head feels as though it's glued in place with sticky paste. He turns to the left because he knows he has to find Dean, but his body moves so sluggishly that he's tempted to close his eyes and fall under the veil again. He can't though; he has to look because whatever this is, it's bad, and he needs to find Dean.

His eyes glide over the broken interior of the Impala, moving slowly until he's at a blurred sideways, and he blinks to clear his eyes from the light. Dean is next to him, Cas _knows_ , because Cas can feel him before he ever sees him. His vision comes into focus and suddenly he can see the red – all the _blood_ red – and the metal that is protruding through the seat, the fact that they're both sitting at an angle, and the driver's side is compacted into a third the size of what it should be. And then there's Dean amidst it all, the steering wheel nearly pressing him flat, eyes closed and barely breathing, if at all.

Cas reaches out for him, his arm shaking as he raises it, but suddenly the door behind him is wrenched open and hands are pawing at him, trying to remove him. “No-” Cas croaks out. He just needs to reach a bit more, needs to touch Dean.

In the next second, Cas is sitting on the ground, a sterile cloth pressed to his forehead where there's a shallow cut. He's shaking, a shock blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and staring at the asphalt like it's somehow to blame. He knows it's really the fault of the semi that's rolled into the ditch, but he can't bring himself to even look in its direction. The people won't let him back up. They won't let him help get Dean out – Dean, who is trapped in the wreckage, quickly losing blood. So much blood.

Cas's vision goes blank for a moment, and he forgets what's going on until someone gasps and there's a stretcher being wheeled by, a white blanket hiding whatever is beneath.

Cas knows. Somehow he just _knows_.

And he throws himself upward into a sitting position, the blankets of their bed falling all around his waist as he takes in huge, heaving gulps of air. _A dream,_ he tells himself. _Just a dream._ The lines of their bedroom slowly materialize as his eyes adjust to the darkness, aided by the soft moonlight that spills in through the window.

“Cas? What's wrong?” he hears Dean's sleep-addled voice behind him. Then a hand reaches out to touch lightly at his unclothed side, fingers gingerly moving up and down in a short line. Cas grabs at it like a lifeline, intertwines their fingers and holds on like he might actually drown in the depths of his nightmare if he lets go.

“It's nothing,” he says and they both know it's a lie. Cas has always been a terrible liar. “Just go back to sleep.”

“Yeah, sure,” Dean replies. “But only if you come here first.”

Cas turns and lays back down, still holding onto Dean's hand. He doesn't reach out for more, feels way too hot as sweat coats his back and neck, and it's okay because that single contact between them is enough. And while they're not normally the hand-holding types, nothing more is said as they both sink back into an uneasy sleep.

 

 

8.

“Do you remember how we met?” Cas asks and regrets it a moment later, because it's such a chick-flick question if there ever was one. And while he's not concerned with such trivialities as _chick-flick_ , he knows that Dean has an aversion. Still, he doesn't take it back because he's genuinely curious.

For once, Dean has no inclination to be a smart-ass about it. Cas is grateful. “You were still in college, right? Just about to graduate?” He pauses for a moment and looks entirely too thoughtful before he gives up entirely with a shrug. “Yeah, I gotta say, I don't remember much more than that. It's been a long time, Cas. Face it, we're getting old.”

“Thirty-six is not old.” Cas nudges him. He's not put out by the lack of an answer, because he, for the life of him, can't recall that much more either. He recollects that it's been about thirteen years in total since they've been together, but neither of them is particularly good at remembering important dates or anniversaries. As long as they can remember birthdays and Christmas, they're set. They wouldn't even do Valentine's Day except that Gabriel makes enough candy for the entire neighborhood and they both pass out in chocolate and peanut-butter comas the next day.

“Thirty-six and a half,” Dean corrects like a five-year-old. It earns him a smile and a roll of the eyes. “Which makes you thirty-seven. See? We _are_ old.”

“Are you sure it wasn't when I was in grad school?” Cas asks, going back to the original topic. His legs are pulled up onto the couch in front of him and Dean is leaning against his shoulder, half laying, half sitting, both of them curled up under a blanket while the television sounds softly in the background. They'd stopped paying attention to whatever it is on the screen a long time ago.

“What's the difference?” Dean asks.

Cas supposes he's right; it was all in the same time-frame and Cas hadn't even completed his graduate program in literature. He'd been so tired of school as it was. Funny, he thinks, how he can remember such a small thing, yet not the day he and Dean met. He reaches out for the little things, but nothing comes to light and he has to struggle to remember what life was like before Dean. Not in the facts, mind, because he remembers growing up in his family of five siblings, how his mother and father were never around. He remembers that Michael's word was law and that he and Lucy fought like cats and dogs, but were seemingly best friends by the end of the day. He remembers the pranks played by Gabriel and the exasperation on Anna's face when she was usually the target. It's the emotions he can't recall – how it felt at the time – because so much has changed and he's not sure he could ever go back.

Cas had lived with Gabriel while he was in college and Gabriel was attending pastry school, and oddly enough, they'd never really moved too far away from each other, save for that one year Gabe had gone off to Paris for some kind of elite confectionery school. Cas doesn't even know when that was because it all blurs together before a full year of arguments and slammed doors between he and a neighbor in the apartment complex who just couldn't help blaring classic rock tunes at all hours of the day and night. Suddenly it clicks into place and Cas smiles softly.

“I don't think I liked you when we first met,” Cas tells Dean. “In fact, I think I hated you.”

“Yeah,” Dean says in a sort of half-laugh. “I'm pretty sure the feeling was mutual.”

“And now?”

“Do you even have to ask?”

No, Cas supposes he doesn't. Because if all those impromptu make-out sessions in the hallway between their front doors hadn't done it, Cas is willing to bet that the thirteen years (of a very healthy, very physical relationship) that have passed between then and now have certainly changed his mind.

“Are we done on this little trip down memory lane?” Dean asks next, taking the time to slip an arm down around Cas's waist, maneuvering his hand under Cas's shirt and massaging the skin there. Cas returns the favor by slinging his own partially over Dean's shoulder and playing with his hair. “'Cause I'd really like to make out like a couple of teenagers now. Granted, we don't have a door to lean against or an elevator to take up.”

“I think we can make due,” Cas replies evenly before he goes in for a kiss.

 

 

9.

His tomatoes are being ruined by tiny little pests that Cas has never had the misfortune of actually seeing. The leaves are yellowed, covered in a shiny, sticky substance that looks rather perverted, and if he doesn't do something soon, he might not have any of the one vegetable he actually likes. Though he does suppose that tomatoes are actually fruits. They have seeds like fruits and are labeled as fruits scientifically. But in a culinary sense, they tend to pair better with vegetables, so they might as well be one-

He stops himself from thinking too much. He's read about these tiny creatures called aphids and he has the means to end them. The only problem is that the only batch of insecticidal soap he'd bought all those months ago is sitting in the garage – a place he doesn't exactly like to venture. Mainly because the remnants of their accident is there, sitting under the popcorn ceiling without a bit of light to make it shine glossy black again. The Impala's disrepair is an ongoing debate between Cas and Dean. They have the funds to repair her; it's simply a matter of convincing Dean that he's able to.

Cas hesitates before he stands from his garden turned vegetable patch. Sure, there are other veggies to be harvested (the cucumbers and squash are looking particularly nice), but he wants to do something to help the tomatoes first.

He enters the garage via the back door that never gets locked anymore.

Cas ignores the mess of beaten up metal that sits in the middle at first, but he can't keep his eyes from shifting in her direction every so often. Every time he turns, he half expects to see her resting there in full glory, but every time, she's nothing more than twisted and turned and faded from disuse. She looks like he feels, staring back at him with her headlights crushed inward as though asking for help that he cannot give because he simply does not know how.

The insecticidal soap isn't where he'd left it. Cas tries to shuffle around bags of sod and healthy soil, an old watering can that really needed to be thrown away last season, and the multitude of bottles containing nutrients for roses, back when he'd tried a hand at flowers. It'd failed miserably. He grows frantic, frustrated when he can't find it and get out of there. He turns to the Impala one more time and she stares back so pitifully that he thinks if he looks long enough, she might start to cry. Or is that him? He wants so badly to say he's sorry, so sorry.

But saying sorry won't make it better. And seeing her like that only reminds Cas of how much more they need to heal.

The impact replays in his mind – the moments before the collision and the easy conversation between Cas and Dean about Sam's next trip up to see them – and then a loud, angry roar that splits Cas's eardrums to this day, even as he imagines it.

The ambulance and the rescue truck, their wailing sirens and shining lights; the sound of groaning metal and then a flashlight in his eyes as he sinks to the ground. It's as though Cas is still there, still staring at the Impala as they twist the door open and carefully pry Dean out of the cramped front seat. He sees the men in their uniforms, hears the growing crowd whisper behind him. Sometimes he wonders what it would have been like if he died that night; but that thought is so very selfish.

The garage is musty and so devoid of light, and Cas can't breathe. He doesn't know when, but tears are spotting down his face – just one or three or a dozen – before he wipes them away with the back of his hand and he leans down as though to touch the car. It's still so far away. And there's no way anyone is going to let him come near even though he wants nothing more than to rip them all away and find a way to get to Dean himself. Cas runs a hand through his already disheveled hair. His eyes dart left and right in confusion and a strained sound erupts from the back of his throat, ending just as soon as it started. His mouth feels tight and chest feels as though his heart may stop beating.

Cas barrels out the backdoor the same way he'd come in.

Mere seconds pass before there are arms wrapped around him. He doesn't know who it is, but he buries his face against the shoulder of a gray v-neck, still standing hunched over as he clutches a hand to his mouth like he doesn't want anything to escape – whether it be air or sound or the contents of his empty stomach. “There, there, Cassie,” someone breathes against the top of his head. Cas doesn't register enough for it to be comforting.

It's the sunlight and the sound of birds that bring him back. Cas draws in a heavy breath, willing some sense of calm to return. When he looks up and sees that it's just Balthazar (and suddenly that _means_ something he doesn't quite understand) Cas lets out a soft little “oh” before he steps away.

“Shall I go and fetch your brother?” Balthazar asks as though that might be a greater comfort to Castiel. If he knew Gabriel better, he might rethink his offer. Or at least offer to call Anna instead; though really, Cas is sure he doesn't want to see her either.

“No,” Castiel says and he doesn't mean for it to sound so pathetic. He straightens up as best he can. “I just need to go inside. I need to find Dean.”

Balthazar's eyes do a funny little thing that Cas can't understand, like he's surprised at something, but he's yet to let go of Cas's arms. Cas takes a stumbling step backward (he's sure it's just because the ground is uneven) and Balthazar steadies him, turning Cas so that one hand is strategically placed at his back to keep him from falling over again. Cas wants to claim that he doesn't need the help, but it's oddly soothing.

They make it inside via the sliding glass door and Balthazar leads Cas into the living room, where sure enough, Dean is still seated on the couch just as Cas had left him that morning. He feels bad that he needs so much reassurance lately, like he's a baby, but he can't help sinking down into the soft cushions as Balthazar lets him go into the waiting arms of Dean.

“Thanks,” Dean says to Balthazar, but the other man doesn't acknowledge him.

There's that same look in Balthazar's eyes that Cas can't comprehend and it might just be his imagination, but it looks almost shining. There's affection there. “Look after yourself, Cassie,” he says, and Cas can't help but nod.

Balthazar leaves soon after that.

 

 

10.

Monday evening brings Cas to the vegetable patch again. He hadn't gotten anything done the day before and even if the tomatoes can't be salvaged, he still has a ton of cucumbers and squash to pick. The squash have done better than anything else, really. Too bad, like carrots, he doesn't really care for squash either. If Sam were here, he'd pawn them all off on him, but that's not going to happen anytime soon.

“Hey, little brother,” Cas hears behind him, and he nearly turns his head upside down as he looks backward at the familiar image of his older brother. Cas replies with a quick “hello Gabriel,” and the man plops down beside Cas cross-legged on the blue blanket. He's got two bon-bons in hand and he tosses one back into his mouth before wiggling the other up in front of Cas's face invitingly. “Open up,” Gabriel says; Cas is wearing his gardening gloves, so he does just that.

It's sweet and bitter at the same time, telling Cas that Gabriel is trying something with cranberries again – it's a much better outcome this time.

As Gabriel opens his mouth to speak again, Cas thinks he's going to ask about this newest candy, but that's not what happens at all. “So the spy next door informed me that you had a little breakdown yesterday,” he says as jovially as he can, but it comes out flatter than either of them would like. “Something you'd like to share with the class, Cas-cake? Or should we go on pretending that nothing is wrong? 'Cause I am totally cool with that.”

Cas can't find it in himself to be aggravated with Balthazar. If he'd been in the other man's shoes, he'd have probably done the same. “There's nothing to pretend, Gabriel. I was just a bit overwhelmed when I went into the garage.”

“You went into the garage?” Gabriel asked, eyebrows raised as though he doesn't understand his own question. “I told you, you need to get rid of that old rusted hunk of junk.”

“I can't do that, Gabriel. She's family. And someday Dean is going to make her right again.”

Gabriel looks at Cas like he's grown an extra head before settling back into feigned cheer. “Right, sure, whatever you say, mi hermano. Just don't get your hopes up, kay? It won't be the worst thing in the world if that car never gets fixed.” Cas doesn't know how to tell him that it just might be, before Gabriel continues. “Look, just...” he grows serious again, “you're painfully loyal, Cas. And that's one of the best things about you, I guess. But maybe it's time to let some of this go. You know? Move on with your life. Live in the moment! Or something like that.”

Castiel doesn't have the heart to tell him that those two thoughts don't really mesh well together. Moving on feels like staring at a future he doesn't want to admit is coming. And living in the moment is just as painful.

“What exactly are you trying to say?” Cas asks instead.

Gabriel thinks on it for a moment before he gives up and that same sly smile he's had since Cas was three and Gabe an overactive four-year-old comes to light. “Nothing at all, bro,” he says, ruffling Cas's hair in a way that painfully reminds him of childhood and eighteen years worth of noogies. “You just keep healing at your own rate. Me and sisteroonie, we'll back off.”

Cas nods like he understands, but he really doesn't. That's always been the case when dealing with Gabriel though. He returns to pulling his ripened vegetables off their vines and shakes his head in fond affection when Gabriel pulls a plastic pouch of gummy bears from his pocket and eats them one at a time, biting their heads off first.

“There's something wrong with Anna,” Cas tells him like it's yesterday's news. It's been a suspicion he's harbored for a while now and Gabriel makes as good a sounding board as anyone. Even more so because he actually knows Anna like Cas knows Anna.

Gabriel's smile still hasn't disappeared. “Oh? What makes you say that?”

“She's more emotional as of late.” Gabriel nods; he's noticed it too. “There's something causing her distress and I believe she's taking it out on the world around her. She doesn't seem to be happy anymore and I can't help but feel like there's something she's not telling us,” Cas explains in the best way he can without making it sound as though he's blaming his sister. Sometimes though, that's exactly what he feels like doing for all her outbursts and pointed fingers. “She wasn't always like this. She used to be so very _down to earth_ , I believe the phrase is.”

“Oh, it's something big alright, but not bad,” Gabriel admits that he knows. Castiel feels that much more cross and he wants to smack his older brother much in the same way Sam does to Dean every now and again when he says something particularly unapologetic. Gabriel continues with: “But I think it's best if you wait and let her tell you. Oh don't give me such a sourpuss face, there Cassafras. You've got shit you're not telling us too.”

Cas can concede to that. He lets it go because he doesn't want to admit to his blanking out every other day, doesn't want to admit that things with Dean might not be getting any better, doesn't want to admit that he misses Sam.

“Look,” Gabriel starts again, “we're always gonna be here for you without getting all up in your business. I think this time you gotta do the same for Anna. She'll spill all when she's ready.”

Cas doesn't want to let the conversation drop like that, but he does. He's so tired of thinking about it anyway. He's tired of thinking about a lot of things: the accident, the way his feelings are all sorts of twisty-turny in his stomach, and the way people (his siblings included) treat him as though he's something fragile. Maybe it's time he started taking his brother's advice, misguided as it's been in the past. Maybe, just maybe, it's time to start moving on; and when he does, he'll trust in the people around him to pull him into something both new and good.

Like he can read minds, Gabriel smirks and pulls at Cas's shoulder in a one-armed hug until he can lay a wet, noisy kiss on Cas's cheek. “That-a-boy,” Gabriel coos and Cas wipes the side of his face with his dirty gardening gloves. Gabe doesn't bother to move his arm, keeping Cas close.

 

 

11.

Cas doesn't want to be here, doesn't want to sit in Garth's cold as ice office anymore, but he made a promise to his brother, and so he keeps his tongue in check while Garth pours himself a cup of coffee in the tiny kitchenette that sits in the corner. He doesn't have enough incoming money to pay for a receptionist, so the phone rings throughout their session, and Garth never answers it. The shrill sound only serves to remind Cas that Sam is still not answering his calls.

Garth busies himself adding too much sugar and cream – some flavored nonsense with a red lid that reads something about tropical coconut on the outside. Who in their right mind would want to add coconut to their coffee- “Are you sure you don't want any?” Garth says, suddenly turned around and looking down at Cas with a more pleasant expression than any human should wear. Cas quickly shakes his head and keeps quiet.

When Garth finishes, he takes his customary seat on the coffee table between them, wincing at just how hot the beverage is, and letting his tongue hang out of his mouth for a fraction of a second to cool it off. Cas can't help but stare in befuddlement.

“So,” Garth says as he brings up a hand and fans it in front of his open mouth, “how are you doing, Cas?”

Cas isn't sure what to say, because nothing has really changed between this Tuesday and the last. Cas still blanks out, Dean still refuses help, and damn it if Anna doesn't start to cry every time she sees them now. Cas is irritated – much more than usual, but he doesn't want to tell Garth that. Somehow the only thing left is a glaring obstinacy he's sure he'd picked up from Dean along the way. He sits still, hands clasped over his lap, and looks straight into Garth's eyes in a way that Dean had assured him years ago was the creepiest thing he'd ever seen.

“Right.” Garth nods amicably. There's still nothing for him to write with, but he does appear to be taking mental notes. He takes another quick sip of his coffee before pulling a face and getting up to pour it down the tiny sink. Apparently he hadn't wanted it after all. Before Garth returns to the low table, he pulls a file seemingly out of thin air. “The EMTs weren't all that helpful in the long run. Paper work, am I right?” he cracks a joke that Cas has no reply to. “But I was able to pull some strings with the fire department. Cas, do you know what this is?” 

The way he's waving the manila folder around beside his head makes Cas think it's something he doesn't want to know. He frowns even more, if at all possible, and shakes his head, determined to give light to nothing.

"This is a copy of the response report from the night of your accident.”

Cas opens his mouth and a small, nearly silent “ah” sounds. He's right; he didn't want to know.

Garth sits down on the table again, leaving the report unopened on his lap as he smooths a hand over the outer surface. “I want to read a little bit from this, Cas, if you're okay with it?” Cas can't reply because he doesn't want to give anything away, so Garth continues unaware. “Now, I'm only going to read a bit, and I hope this will start to jog your memory. But if it starts to be too much, I want you to tell me to stop immediately and we'll call it a day, alright buddy?”

Again, Cas says nothing as he stares dead ahead, his hands now clenched tightly in the fabric of the cushions beside him. Garth picks up the file and opens it while Cas follows every movement in his peripheral. He knows he doesn't want to hear this, that whatever it is cannot be good. Cas just wants to get better, wants everything to go back to the way it was before the accident, back when he and Dean were happy and still so much in love and even talking about moving to California and maybe even getting married even though it's not necessary, but it'd be nice to have something on paper-

Garth interrupts, his tone steady and calming. “I'm just gonna summarize for you, alright? From bystanders questioning, they estimate that the collision happened at eight that night. It hadn't been raining, but the roads were wet and partially iced over because of a pipeline that had busted earlier in the day.”

Cas remembers that much. He and Dean had been talking about Sam and Jess' visit for Christmas and it was so cold outside that Cas was betting they'd have a white Christmas before Dean grumbled that snow was more trouble than it was worth. Still, Cas had wanted it like he wanted to get home and curl up on the couch with a cup of hot chocolate made from the bittersweet shavings Gabriel had left them the week prior.

Ice coated the road and Dean said something terrible about people learning to drive when the car in front of them wobbled a bit over a particularly nasty patch. Rather than the car, they should have been paying attention to the eighteen-wheeler that was headed in their direction in the oncoming lane.

Cas is brought back to the present jarringly by Garth's voice. “Emergency responders first appeared approximately fifteen minutes later. The first on the scene were police followed by the fire department and then emergency medical services.” Cas wonders how Garth can take something so clinical and sound so understanding. “The driver of the semi made it out without injury. But the doors of the other vehicle-” The Impala, Cas corrects him aloud. Garth nods. “-the Impala were too badly damaged to pull open, so they had to use some thingamajig to bust them open.”

Cas highly doubts the technical term is actually thingamajig, but he doesn't comment. Mostly because the overwhelming sound of metal being ripped apart is sitting like a lead rock at the back of his mind, groaning and twisting sharply until he has the undeniable urge to jam the heels of his hands against his ears. He wants nothing more than to curl up on that couch, to press his face against the cushions and forget where he is. The air turns hot and heavy around him, like smoke and fire and the knowledge that something has gone horribly wrong. His eyes water and he's sure that it's because of the thick fog that's tracing up through the hood of the car. He wants to reach beside him, to feel Dean's reassuring presence. But he can't because Cas isn't there and Dean isn't here.

He holds his tears back long enough for Garth to keep going.

“The first victim pulled from the car was a thirty-six year old male with a severe concussion and sustained injuries to the chest and a cut above his right eyebrow.” Cas doesn't have to ask for clarification to know that Garth is talking about him. “Response workers got him out of the car and out onto the grass with little trouble, since he was kinda out of it, I'm guessing,” Garth explains.

Cas lets out a small, whining groan and Garth looks at him with a raised brow. The sound comes again and Cas raises a hand up to brush through his already messy hair. He starts rocking forward minutely.

“The driver's side door was a little harder to get off,” Garth keeps going. Why does he keep going? He must be a fucking sadist, a voice that sounds suspiciously like Dean floats through Cas's mind. “The second victim, another thirty-six year old male, was unconscious, had a chunk of metal impaled at his lower abdomen through his back, which had to be cut off to be moved with him. They successfully got him from the vehicle, but could not staunch the flow of blood long enough to get him stabilized for transport. He-”

“Shut up!” Cas roars. “I can't do this anymore. Why are you making me do this?” he asks pitifully.

Garth closes the file and throws it behind him somewhere in the general direction of his desk. He holds his hands up in that placating gesture that Cas is starting to hate so much. “It's okay Cas. We'll stop for today, alright? Don't even have to sit through a whole session. Do you want some coffee now?”

No, Cas doesn't want any coffee. He just wants air – sweet precious air from outside this infernal building. He wants to be out of this tiny room and away from the stupid faux-leather couch. He wants to be rid of these stupid sessions altogether because they are not helping and he doesn't want to think about the accident or his injuries or seeing Dean laid out on that stretcher upside down, the blood flowing from the gaping wound at his back where metal was embedded, jutting out of his pale skin jarringly. The image makes him sick.

Cas all but leaps from the couch and marches over to the door before Garth can even tell him goodbye. He's done trying to wrangle the reasons, the truth, the feelings – whatever it is Garth thinks he will find by talking – and ready to hide his face in a mound of blankets and pillows that smell like him and Dean. Preferably Dean. But nothing really smells like Dean anymore. It's odd. Cas throws the door open, feeling lightheaded and stomach-queasy, walks out into the warm air, and his eyes settle on Dean's wheelchair-

That's not Dean. Where is Dean? Cas looks around, wondering where he could have gone off to without the use of his legs. His eyes land back on the chair and the figure slouched over in the seat – dark, dark blonde hair, green eyes, and a sinful mouth. But no, that's _not_ Dean; _that's_ a cruel joke being played by someone, anyone- He doesn't know. Cas spins around, his hands in his hair, pulling violently until it hurts.

“Where is he?” he asks manically when Garth pokes his head out the door to say goodbye. “Where is he and _what is that_?”

Garth's brows narrow; Cas knows that look and he doesn't want it. He doesn't want the sympathy or the understanding. He just wants Dean, because _that_ is _not Dean_. “Tell me where he is!” he shouts and a random passerby in the building stops to stare. Cas doesn't care though. He keeps asking, keeps worrying, but his voice doesn't sound right anymore. His words are garbled and sluggish. Garth is trying to hold him up as everything goes dark, but the man isn't strong enough to keep Cas's full weight standing.

Cas passes out.

When he wakes up sometime later, Cas is laid out on his own bed, his favorite green blanket laid out over his still-clothed form, and he inhales the comforting scent of clean and fabric softener. Sunlight pours through the window, so he knows the day is not wasted, but everything seems hazy. He's too tired to recall anything of import and vaguely wonders what he'll make for dinner tonight. Maybe he'll just call in an order. It seems like a good day to actually be lazy, despite all Dean's teasing that Cas doesn't know how.

The afternoon glow is warm on his skin where it peeks out from under the blanket and he blinks away the fog as he stretches like a cat. It's too bright and he'll never get comfortable as long as he's facing the window, so Cas turns over only to find that he isn't alone in bed. It's not Dean there with him, but Anna laying against Dean's pillow (which doesn't smell like Dean anymore) and his first thought is to push her away so that she doesn't infect it with her sunflower-scent. She looks so peaceful though, as she hasn't in a long time, and Cas lets her be, eyes closed and breathing deeply.

She's not asleep though; he considers it an older-sibling-sense, but he just knows. Cas reaches out to lightly brush the bangs out of her face, and it must tickle a bit because the next thing he sees is the hazel of her eyes.

“Hello, Cas,” she says in a light voice that's not quite a whisper. He returns it with a quiet “hello, Anna.”

“Why are you here?” he asks next. He wants so badly not to mind, but that's Dean's pillow and she smells like sunlight, and for some reason the two do not mix.

Anna smiles and places her hand over Cas's where he's let it fall to the bed between them. “Gabriel brought you home,” she says as though that's supposed to explain everything. “I came to watch over you.”

“Like an angel?” he asks and it's teasing in his own way.

“Like an angel,” she echoes sleepily.

They lie like that together, drifting in and out of something that's not quiet sleep, and sounds a lot like rest. Cas watches color dance over the backs of his eyelids for the longest time as something like meditation washes over him. It's the calmest he's felt in a while. And for all his regrets that the pillow doesn't smell like Dean anymore, he doesn't actually think to ask where Dean is.

“Cas, I need to tell you something,” Anna interrupts his partial-slumber. The way she speaks is so quiet, so soothing. “Cas, I need you to get better,” she pleads. “'Cause in the next few months, I think I'm going to need your help more than anyone else's.”

Cas blinks and smiles, and already knows there's nothing he'll deny his favorite (and only) little sister. “Name it, Anna.”

“I think I'm going to live with Gabriel for a while,” Anna tells him, hinting at some larger problem that he can't begin to fathom. She seems to fight with her own thoughts internally, her emotions dancing between hesitant and frustrated. In the end, she settles for a calm that could not be replicated if she was anywhere else. “He's got enough room for me and the baby.”

Cas's blue eyes widen. “Anna, you're pregnant? But how?”

She smacks his arm lightly. “How do you think? Michael explained the birds and the bees to us on the same day. That was rather scarring,” she admits. There's a laugh shared between them. “It was an accident, Cas. Four months ago, I just... I needed to feel something that didn't have to do-” and here he knows she means his problems, though she doesn't say it “-with anything else. It was something stupid. I don't even know his name or where he's from.”

“And you decided to keep it?” he asks, voice free of judgment. Anna's always wanted a family of her own, but she's always been so headstrong in maintaining her independence and singularity that maybe this is a better way after all.

Anna nods. “I'm gonna keep it. And I need my brother's help. Both of you.” She includes Gabriel, and though it's implied, he knows that neither Michael or Lucy are added in. It's been years since they've spoken to their two eldest brothers anyway. “I need you and Gabe because we don't have anyone else. So you have to get better, Cas. Promise me.”

Cas glances down to where she's unconsciously placed a hand over her stomach. There's a child in there and that fact alone drowns Cas in awe. He's going to be an uncle. Something in that fills him with the need to keep pressing forward. He lays a hand to Anna's hair in a way that is familiar to them as siblings and promises her that he's going to do better. He has to now. And because of that, he tells her everything – about his fear, about his blanking out for hours on end, about his sadness over Sam, every bit of it – there in the comforting haven of sunlight and clean sheets.

Anna listens without saying a word. Cas thinks he hasn't felt this close to his siblings since they were children.

 

 

12.

Cas spends the next week trying to get better, but he has no basis for practical application, so it looks more like a lot of feigned cheerfulness and writing down in a notebook diary the times he blanks out. Anna smiles weakly and pats his hand every time she sees him, and Gabriel just smirks and laughs with an implied “oh, little bro, that is not how to go about this whole shindig.” To that he has no reply except to keep trying. That's all he can do.

The most frustrating part is that Dean doesn't seem to be encouraging his efforts in the least. Really, they've tried to have a conversation about it, which was more Cas talking and Dean listening (again) than it was anything remotely helpful. When it all comes down to it, Cas realizes that Dean doesn't think there's anything to be fixed. He's content to stay in place, staring at that same spot on the wall whenever Cas isn't in the room, and Cas, oh help him, finds that he cannot live like that any longer.

“Sometimes I think you don't want me to get better,” Cas tells Dean one afternoon when Dean is being purposely obstinate and refuses to talk about it.

“The hell do you mean?” Dean asks. His hand lightly running up and down Cas's arm is distracting, but not nearly enough to keep Cas from going down this road. “There's nothing to fix, Cas. You're happy, I'm happy... or as happy as I can be just sitting here all fucking day.” And here Cas knows he's meant to feel sorry for Dean, but he's not being sidetracked any more.

“There's something wrong with us,” Cas retorts. He hopes Dean gets it because he doesn't mean to imply there's something wrong with the feelings they have for each other. Cas still loves Dean like the day they moved in together, like the day they decided that this between them was permanent, like all the shared smiles and intimate touches all rolled into one. That, at least, has never changed and never will. “External circumstances, call it what you will, I don't care, but something is making us not happy anymore.”

“I have no idea what you just said,” Dean shrugs and jerks his arm away.

Cas lets out a sigh and has to work through his own thoughts before he can reply. “There's something wrong with both of us, individually. I've got problems and you've got problems. We've got to work through those if we're going to be happy.”

“I think the only problem around here is the fact that you keep going around talking to yourself,” Dean retorts hotly, and it stops Cas in his metaphorical tracks.

“What?” he asks quietly. His hand has stilled where he was picking at the loose fibers of the couch.

“You know I'm not listening,” Dean says, and it's cruel. It's hateful and cruel, and Cas wants to ask why, except he already knows the answer. It's been staring him in the face ever since his last appointment with Garth, ever since he replayed the night of the accident in his mind. Cas doesn't need to hear the rest of Dean's thought, because it rings all too clear in his head: _You know I'm not listening because I'm not really here._

Cas stares, because there's little else he can bring himself to do at the moment, and the more he looks, the more Dean seems off. It starts out as something minute, like his freckles are suddenly gone, and then his hair morphs a shade lighter, his skin a shade darker. It's got this sickly plastic sheen to it that Cas wants to take a washcloth to, but he knows that won't help in the least. Dean just stares right back, those green eyes that haunt Cas's every thought dulling like the life has sapped right out of him.

And suddenly Cas knows.

He chokes in a shuddering breath, bringing his hand up to his mouth. “No,” he cries, barely above a whisper. “No no no no.” And because he can't keep up any longer, he fumbles down to kneel on the ground at the base of the couch, his hands on either side of the doll as he wills it back to being his Dean. “No,” he continues repeating in a broken mantra. “No no no.”

Because this can't be. This just can't be. Cas begs the doll to go back, takes its hands in his and squeezes like that little bit of magic, that spark of hope that's left in his heart, will turn it back into the man he loves. He wants- No, he _needs_ to keep pretending, to keep believing. He'll gladly go back, he'll concede to Dean that there's nothing to fix if only he can _keep believing_

Tears stream down his cheeks until he's a blubbering mess, his body heaving terrible sobs and incoherent rambling as he presses his face against the glossy plastic. He shakes and hits the couch before wrapping his arms around the figure that is not Dean. He holds it close, breathes in and out over Dean's clothes – _Dean's clothes_ – that he'd long since been dressing this... this _thing_ in. Anger builds up and suddenly he's tearing the faded old shirt away, pulling the jeans off without a moment's hesitation, and once the lifeless doll is completely naked, the tears start again that much more violent.

Cas cries for a long time. He cries because he was never able to grieve properly the first time and maybe that was the problem to begin with. He cries because no matter how much he was deluding himself, he was happy, genuinely, unashamedly happy, and he wants nothing more than to look up and see Dean smiling down at him. But he won't; he can't. Dean won't ever look at him again because Dean is gone. He's not coming back and that hits Cas so hard, like a hit to the stomach forty times over.

When he's calmed down marginally, rocking himself back and forth in front of the couch, face pressed against his own knees, the tears still come. Cas isn't sure they'll ever stop; he isn't sure he wants them to because now he can't see an end in sight. He's wedged in the middle of a dark, dank tunnel and he can't, for the life of him, see the light at either end.

It doesn't dawn on Cas to think about how ridiculous he's looked wheeling a fucking _sex doll_ around for the past four months; he doesn't think about the fact that he broke down in the middle of a shopping mall adults-only store, clutching something that vaguely resembled his late partner standing in the store window, until his brother (under the watchful eye of mall security) essentially bought the damned thing just to get him home. None of that matters because a major part of Cas's life has just been ripped away from him and in this very minute, he feels empty.

Cas cries until he's devoid of tears, until nothing else will come out, the rocking stops, and his eyes are red-rimmed and rubbed raw some hours later. He pulls his phone from his pocket and navigates to call Gabriel. His voice is harsher than normal, even with the way it quivers.

“Come get this damn thing out of my house.”

 

 

13.

Cas waits two months before he tries to call Sam again and when he does, it's after an hour of painful rehearsal on what he's going to say and how he's going to deliver. Of course, when the voicemail picks up, everything goes out the window, and Cas is left breathing shakily into the phone. He hangs up and tries again only to come to the same result.

He's been practicing this daily since his last appointment with Garth. The once a week therapy has turned into twice a week grief counseling and call it hopeful, but Cas thinks that maybe he is getting better. Slowly, but surely. Two months isn't enough time to move past the loss of a loved one and something inside Cas feels like even years won't be enough, but he feels like he can breathe again, at least.

Cas nudges a heavy cardboard box that's filled with pictures from the wall away from the couch. Gabriel and Anna have been by to help him pack every day for the past week, but some things he needs to do on his own. He's packed away all of Dean's clothes and while he can't bring himself to give any of it away just yet, he knows he won't have enough room for it when he moves. He wants to offer what he can to Sam, but that won't happen until he works up the nerve to call and actually leave a message. It'd been so easy before; Cas shudders, bringing back to mind the thousands of pleas he'sleft to Sam and how much it had to have hurt the younger man.

He looks into the box and picks out a smaller picture of Sam and Dean, taken oh so many years ago, faces more boyish and smiles that much more carefree. It hits Cas again just how much he misses Sam, how much he wants to make things right between them. He plucks up his phone again and dials with a steely amount of resolve. It goes straight to voicemail again.

“Sam,” he pauses for a moment, but he doesn't have long. “I know you don't want to talk to me, but I need to say that I'm sorry. I am so, so sorry, Sam. For what I've put you through. For not being able to move forward. I'm in counseling now and...” That's it. The message ends. Cas runs his palm over the top of his face, rubbing the tears away from one eye, and ends the call. He could call back and leave more, but he doesn't want to bother Sam any more than he already has. He might be a bit of a coward in that regard.

Cas goes back to packing away his own things this time, because that's infinitely easier than realizing that he won't be unpacking Dean's in the new place.

He's surprised when there's a knock at the door three hours later. Cas is surrounded on the kitchen floor by a myriad of pots and pans and various utensils that he's either going to pack away or donate, and the lap full of baking sheets Gabriel insisted they own go clattering to the floor as Cas stands and brushes off the seat of his tattered old jeans. He hasn't cleaned anything yet, waiting for the boxes to be moved out before he goes over the house one last- _no_ , Cas doesn't want to think about that.

Expecting that it's the takeaway he ordered half an hour ago, Cas pulls a few tens from the junk drawer where they keep their keys. Where _he_ keeps _his_ keys, he corrects himself, and always a bit of spare money for such occasions.

He's surprised to find on the other side not the delivery boy, but the too-tall image of Sam Winchester looking down at him with a small, sad smile. Sam looks awkward, subtly shifting from one foot to the other, and Cas wonders if his mind isn't playing tricks on him again. He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. Everything seems so inadequate.

“Hi, Cas. I uh- I got your message,” Sam speaks first.

“You drove all this way?” Cas asks in awe. He shouldn't be so stunned, really. This is Sam, after all – Sam, who hitchhiked his way back to them after his car broke down two hours out of Palo Alto just to make it in time for Christmas when he could have just as easily turned around. He'd gotten an earful from Dean that year. Cas can't help but laugh at the memory, followed by a singular sob that has him covering his mouth. Still, the smile prevails and Cas can't help it because _Sam_ is actually _here and smiling back at him_.

Cas ushers him inside. Sam looks taken aback at the sheer number of boxes lining one wall of the foyer. “Cas, are you moving?” he asks in a fit of disbelief. It's not judging and to be honest, Cas can't believe it himself sometimes. This house – he'll always love this house where he lived with Dean, but something tells him that leaving would be for the better. And it's not like he's going very far.

“I'm moving in with Gabriel and Anna. She's pregnant,” Cas offers without preamble.

“Is that?” Sam starts, but shakes his head and tries again. “Are they okay with that? With everything?” It's such a silly question to ask because of course they're okay with it, or he wouldn't be going to live with them in the first place. Cas doesn't answer as he leads Sam through the maze of boxes and into the living room. He doesn't tell Sam how hard it's been, doesn't talk about the number of times he's broken down since his realization. He doesn't need to. “I'm sorry, Cas,” Sam says and it's the most startling sound in the world. They take seats on opposite ends of the couch.

“For what?” Cas asks. His eyes shine and he doesn't understand it at all. Why should Sam be sorry when Cas was the one who so irrevocably hurt him?

“Because I couldn't be here,” Sam answers. “It was too painful. I kept in touch with Gabriel all this time, you know. I knew what was happening and I couldn't do anything. Pretending what you thought was real...”

“That was too much to ask of you, Sam. You lost him too.”

“Yeah, but he _loved_ you, Cas.” Sam's voice turns broken and pained. “And I should have been here-”

To pick up the pieces? Cas wants to ask, but he doesn't because that's a trait that Dean passed on to Sam – the need to feel so damn responsible for everyone and everything, but especially _family_ – and it's something he's always admired about them both. “Sam, stop,” he says instead. “I was in a very bad place, but I was happy. It wasn't right and I hurt a lot of people, but I genuinely was. So there's no reason for you to feel guilty.”

Sam looks like he wants to argue, but Cas is just as good at throwing bitchfaces (as Dean would call them. This makes Cas smile again for a fraction), and that stops Sam in his tracks. Cas continues, “Rather, I should be the one apologizing for pushing my delusions onto you and Jess. There is nothing that I regret more.”

Sam nods because there's nothing more to add. They each have their own pain they're working through. Minutes pass in silence and awkward glances. Cas wants to ask where they stand, but he doesn't think he has the right. Luckily for him, he doesn't have to. “So I was thinking,” Sam says and there's a strange moment where Cas thinks the worst is about to come, “that Jess and I might come up for Christmas this year, if it's okay with you. And Gabriel and Anna, of course.”

Cas smiles, letting out a breath that he didn't know he'd been holding. “That would make me very happy.”

 

 

14.

Anna gets Cas up early, too early, for he's never been anything resembling a morning person (not like Dean, he thinks), and he's only just starting to remember what it's like to live with his siblings again. Not all of it is bad, he knows; Anna and Cas take turns cooking dinner when they're all together because Anna still works late hours at the gallery and Gabriel says he can't be bothered to work for anything that isn't dessert. He's appalled when Cas buys Anna the boxed chocolate pudding she's been craving instead of making it from scratch.

It's starting to get cool outside and Cas is grateful as Anna shuffles him into a light coat. It's a little short in the sleeves and he thinks it might actually belong to Gabriel, but that isn't enough to make him complain. He doesn't even remember getting dressed, but he must have, because when he looks down, he's in a pair of nice jeans and a button-up. He sincerely hopes his sister didn't dress him.

“No, I just threw your clothes at you,” Anna says as though he'd said that all out loud. Maybe he had. “Now hurry up or we're going to be late for my appointment.”

Oh, _that's right._ Cas perks up just a bit, a dorky kind of excitement peeking up through the haze. He doesn't even protest about a lack of breakfast as Anna piles him into the tiny car she drives. It's a chore to keep his eyes open as they drive downtown, weaving in and out of one way streets until Anna comes to the office of the best OB-GYN this side of the city. He yawns as she pulls him by the wrist into the waiting lobby and checks herself in with a smile.

Cas crashes down into one of the uncomfortable chairs that lines the wall opposite the reception desk. He's too tired to even think about picking up one of the parenting magazines that sits on the table next to him. His head sits in one hand and his eyes waver, slowly slipping back into slumber. It feels like forever has gone by when Anna taps him on the shoulder impatiently, but in reality it's only been about fifteen minutes before they're walking back to an examination room.

Cas waits in the hall as Anna changes.

The doctor's name is Pamela and Cas wonders what is it about doctors in this city and their need for everyone to address them informally. She's nice enough though, with a grin that's more teasing than anything else as she asks if Cas is the father and suddenly the siblings are waving hands madly about in front of them, assuring her that _no_ (rather emphatically), they're brother and sister. It's not the first time that's happened since Anna's started showing.

It's a lot better than the reaction Gabriel gives in the grocery, wherein he smiles happily and proceeds to rub Cas's stomach as though he's the one who is pregnant and not Anna.

There's talk next of scheduled tests, blood and the like, which Cas ignores because he doesn't want to know the hows or the whats of his sister's reproductive system. He'd gotten enough of that in sixth grade health ed. and hasn't looked back except in a general sense. Eventually though, they get down to the whole reason for today's appointment. Pamela leaves and comes back with the ultrasound technician – a short girl named Ava – and some strange jellied gunk gets spread over Anna's exposed stomach. She goes pale and Cas takes her hand as they look closely at the screen in front of them while Ava passes a magic wand over the baby bump.

“And let's see. Looks to be developing normally,” Pamela comments when the picture comes to life. The tiny figure on the screen looks like something out of those dreadful alien movies Sam and Dean liked to watch together, but there's something oddly beautiful about it, Cas concedes. “There's the head,” Pamela goes on, “And an arm and a leg. The others as well.” She scares them for a split second because the idea of a one-armed, one-legged baby isn't something they want to contemplate. “Would you like to know the gender?”

This is something they've talked about over dinner – Anna, Gabe, and Cas – and there's no definite consensus as of yet, though they all know that it's ultimately Anna's decision. Cas and Gabe are in favor of surprises. Anna just wants to get started on the mural she's planned for the nursery and needs to know what color scheme she should go with.

“Yes,” Anna says immediately.

Cas can't seem to tear his eyes away from the screen as Ava pronounces the baby a girl. Anna's fingers close around his tighter and his breath catches in his throat. In that split second everything comes rushing back to him: the past year with and without Dean, Sam's return, this new closeness with his siblings, and the baby on the way. Cas doesn't know if he's happy or devastated, but looking at the screen, he's holding onto that happy for all it's worth, which at the moment is _everything_.

The baby moves. Anna feels it, her vocal surprise reflected in the screen. Cas doesn't stop looking, even as he feels his eyes water.

“You're smiling,” Anna says like it's some sort of miracle. Cas supposes it is.

In the end, they get to keep a few images, and even go so far as to hang one on the refrigerator with a tacky little magnet they'd picked up at the grocery that says: It's a girl! Anna's already started highlighting names in a giant baby book and Cas makes a star beside her choices that he likes best. He figures their brother will add in his two cents at some later date, but for now Cas hopes she'll settle on Rachel and keep the tradition going even if they aren't close to the core family anymore.

Cas alternates crying and smiling throughout the rest of the day. It shouldn't get to him so much; it's not his child; but there's something about this new beginning.

Gabriel makes a celebratory pie for dinner.

 

 

15.

There's a family living in Cas's old house – two moms, a son and a daughter, and their pet collie that delights in digging up the spot where Cas's garden once sat. He doesn't mind though; he's long since given up gardening, but he does keep up his Sunday traditions of sitting at the patio set in Gabriel's backyard. Sometimes he brings the baby – already six months old – out with him and they'll sway in the hammock that hangs between two ancient oaks.

Not today though. Today, Anna has Rachel out shopping for new summer clothes. They'll be back later for a family dinner and no one wants to miss the opportunity to introduce Rachel to a new food. Gabriel's already said something about mashed apricots and maybe sneaking in a little chocolate sauce they both know will not fly with Anna. It doesn't sound particularly appetizing to Cas either.

“Don't you just make a lovely picture, Cassie,” he hears behind him, and he cranes his head around to see Balthazar looking the same as ever, glass in hand with something a bit stronger than wine this time. He's teasing again, but that's the normal between them. Cas smiles up at him.

“Hello, Balthazar,” he says and nods to a nearby seat. Balthazar takes it and sets the glass down on the table between them. They sit in silence, watching as the collie digs up yet another patch of dirt near the corner of the house, and the little girl comes screaming out after it because apparently the deadened straw-like grass they have (compliments of a drought) is far too pretty to overturn. It seems like something Anna would have done when she was younger, though they were never allowed pets, and Cas can't help a small upturn of his mouth.

“I do abhor the color they painted that house,” Balthazar comments. Cas finds he doesn't really care that his faded yellow memories have been turned a robin's egg blue. It's no longer his house. And he likes the idea that there's a happy family living within. Someday Rachel will be the age of the little girl, and she'll wear frilly little dresses as well, and maybe they'll even consent to buy her a pet – but something far more tolerable than a dirt-loving collie.

There's nothing to talk about, but this is their weekly ritual and words aren't really necessary. Balthazar swirls the ice around in his glass before he takes one final drink of whatever's inside. They're friends now – not just strange neighbors that yell at each other from across the yard every Sunday. For that, Cas is thankful.

He thinks about Dean every day. _Every day_. That will never change. But instead of dwelling on memories and feelings of loneliness, Cas tries to recall only the good times, because there were _so many_. Nights spent watching horrible monster movies on the couch, sleeping in arms of warmth and affectionand familiarity, road trips in the Impala- Sam has the Impala now. He's going to fix her up just like Dean had, just like their father had before them.

There are nights that Cas still feels so impossibly lonely. But with every day it gets easier.

“Cassie, I don't mean to be too forward,” Balthazar interrupts his thoughts. They both know it's a lie. He's always flirting (albeit harmlessly) with Cas and the innuendos are only too much when Gabriel is around long enough to overhear and use as ammunition for weeks on end. “But I was wondering if you'd have dinner with me tomorrow night.”

Cas's eyes narrow minutely. “Tomorrow's Monday. You're never here through the week.”

Balthazar nods, tracing a finger around the top edge of his glass. “Yes, but I thought I might like to make an exception if you'll say yes.”

Cas knows he isn't ready for anything new. He's still got a ways to go, but he trusts Balthazar to be patient with him. “Only if you promise not to spike the food with chocolate sauce,” he says as though that is his only condition. It's easier not to get into any of the heavy stuff just yet.

Balthazar looks mock-cross for a moment. “Castiel, I am not your brother.”

Cas laughs. It's long and loud and he can't help himself any longer. “I know,” he smiles wide and it's all teeth “and someday I'll let you know how much I appreciate it.”

Balthazar grins his same smarmy grin. “I look forward to it.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So this story was written for a friend who had recently watched a movie called: Lars and the Real Girl. Now, I've never seen this movie, but hearing the summary got me to thinking about maybe dabbling in some Supernatural fiction. Those who have seen the movie can probably attest that this fic was nothing like it (really, I should probably watch it...) but I do hope you enjoyed the story anyway.


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